


what a curious life

by singmyheart



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:51:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singmyheart/pseuds/singmyheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos can't make coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what a curious life

**Author's Note:**

> title from "in the aeroplane over the sea" by neutral milk hotel. 
> 
> i'm kind of obsessed with these two. this is unbeta'd. also available on [my tumblr.](http://redledgering.tumblr.com/post/57548525410/fic-what-a-curious-life-carlos-cecil)

Cecil is careful to separate Carlos, the scientist from Carlos, the rest of the time. Carlos The Scientist is wickedly smart and insatiably curious, unflappably patient, can recite the periodic table of elements in numerical order. Carlos, the rest of the time, has a dry sense of humour that surprises Cecil sometimes (but also loves terrible puns), is not a morning person, and can recite most of the periodic table of elements in numerical order even when Cecil is trying to, ahem, distract him.

He cannot, however, make coffee. Which is to say, he possesses the physical and mental faculties necessarily to make coffee, it’s just that the coffee he makes is uniformly terrible. It’s always too strong, or too weak, or has too much sugar, or is a cold, vaguely greenish semi-solid (that last one may or may not have to do with the low, sinister, lupine growling his coffeemaker emits every third time he turns it on, Cecil isn’t quite sure).

Cecil finds it charming. He doesn’t want to tell Carlos it’s terrible, because it makes Carlos happy to, he thinks, make Cecil happy. So Cecil lets him have it. He lets Carlos bring him occasionally-green coffee and (fairly normal-looking) croissants to scarf down during the show’s weather segment (he likes to come by mostly to visit Koschek; Cecil’s pretty sure seeing him is a fringe benefit for Carlos, compared to being in the presence of such a scientific marvel. He doesn’t mind).

It’s nice, really. Cecil could get used to it. He could get used to coming home from the station with a migraine after a particularly long and arduous day, to the smell of Carlos cooking (that, he can do. Cecil hasn’t given him a key but his front door lock is a sucker for flattery; Carlos has probably figured out exactly how to butter it up to let him in). He could get used to Carlos singing along badly to the radio, dancing a little, clad in jeans and one of Cecil’s t-shirts, dishtowel hanging out of his back pocket. He could get used to sidling up behind him to rest his chin on Carlos’s shoulder, murmur a hello and kiss him, and then going to collapse bonelessly on the couch. He could get used to kicking off his shoes, loosening his tie, and closing his eyes for a few minutes before the bitter, burnt smell of coffee (in his favourite mug, he knows) floats across the room. He could get used to Carlos dropping a kiss on his jaw, pressing the mug into his hands, and then joining him, arranging his limbs so Cecil’s feet are in his lap.

“How was your day?” Cecil asks a little sleepily, blinking his eyes open; he takes a sip and doesn’t even cringe.

Carlos wraps a hand around Cecil’s ankle, tucking his own bare feet up underneath him. “I think I want to get a cat.”

Cecil smiles. 


End file.
